


Unwrapping Hearts

by miscreant_rose



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen, Pigs In Blanks 2013 Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 20:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1111326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscreant_rose/pseuds/miscreant_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pigs In Blankets 2013 Secret Santa fic, based on the prompt: "Christmas morning with Mary, Charles, George, and a Baby Blake or two?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwrapping Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was part of the Pigs In Blankets 2013 Secret Santa fic exchange on tumblr. Prompt from maryjosephineblake: “Christmas morning with Mary, Charles, George, and a Baby Blake or two?” (Please note, the Author blames this entire fic on George; he is the one who ended up writing it….)

**Unwrapping Hearts**

_Christmas, 1924_

“Are you sure you don’t want me to ring for someone?”  She glanced to where Tom was sprawled on the floor beside the cot as Sybbie was excitedly pulling small wrapped gifts from her stocking.

He chuckled, before giving into a yawn.  “We’ll be fine.  I’m sure she’ll keep me up.”

Mary reached down with her free hand to catch George as he was making a bee-line for Sybbie’s present stash, nearly dropping his still-full stocking.  “George, darling, no, we’re going to go to Mummy’s bedroom.”  She tossed an apologetic glance at Tome.  “I can’t help but feel this is our fault with getting them so excited over Father Christmas.  And insisting Nanny spend the holiday with her family.”

“It was bound to happen.”  He started back distractedly as Sybbie excitedly pushed a doll into Tom’s face, squealing for his attention.  Tom glanced back toward Mary and nodded at the slightly open door.  “Careful, you’ve got yourself an escapee.”

She turned and slipped out of the nursery, clicking the door shut behind her and hurried to follow the whisper of little feet racing across the carpet laced with the music of tiny bells.  Calling softly to George, she motioned for him to come back and join her.  He turned and looked at her, a mischievous grin lighting his face before running back to her side, the hems of his slightly-too-long pyjamas pooled at his ankles.  Ruffling his hair again with a free hand, she smiled at him.

“We have to be quiet as we walk back to Mummy’s bedroom.”

He nodded so enthusiastically the little brass bells on his stocking tinkled again, before he put a chubby finger in front of his pursed lips.  She chuckled at his excited face, her heart tugging yet once more. 

Padding softly down the hall, she wondered if Charles had heard her hushed instruction in his half-asleep state as she had slipped out to follow an overwhelmed maid to the nursery.  Softly opening the door to their bedroom, she was relieved to see his pyjama top on.

George hesitated by the door for a moment.  She bent to whisper to him, “You can go wake up Papa.  Show him what Father Christmas brought you.”

She circled to the other side of the bed as she watched George approach Charles, reaching out to tug on his sleeve.  

“Papa, I got a stocking, Papa.”

A clearly mock-dozing Charles stretched and gave an exaggerated yawn.  “Hmm, what’s this?  Stockings?  Surely Father Christmas hasn’t been here all ready?”

It was all George needed to become fully wound up again.  Still clutching his stocking tightly, he started to scramble up unto the bed. “Already. He left me stocking!”

“Is it full of coal?”

Mary couldn’t help but laugh at the suddenly stricken look on George’s face as he slipped back down the side of the bed.

“Charles!” she admonished softly as she settled in to sit beside him.  He chuckled as well, reaching over to lift George up onto the bed with them.  The little boy was looking in his stocking worriedly before pushing it towards Charles for him to inspect.   

“But, presents?”  Her son’s bright soulful eyes were looking at Charles, begging for confirmation.  Eyes so familiar to her, yet so different, alive with a new light and joy.  

“Well, look at that!  It looks like quite a lot of presents in there as well.”  Charles stifled a genuine yawn.  “You better start opening them.”

As George began to upend his stocking and spill the brightly wrapped gifts onto the duvet, Charles leaned closer to Mary, brushing a soft kiss across her temple.  She caught his glance toward the still drawn curtains as he murmured, “How early is it?”

“Very,” she said dryly, trying to hold back a yawn of her own.  

Watching George with his gifts, she thought back to her own childhood and the nearly painful impatience of having to stay in their beds, no matter how wide awake they were on Christmas morning, Nanny snapping at them if they whined or made any kind of noise.  Tired as she was, she suddenly was so grateful for this, a simple pre-dawn moment of watching the genuine joy on her son’s face.  As she sighed, the warm bundle snuggled against her breast echoed the same with a soft squeak and stretch in the loose swaddling.  She smiled down at the still sleeping face of their daughter, the delicacy of tiny dark lashes against her cheek, the round pout of her mouth, the peaceful expression working its usual magic and enchanting her anew.

Charles traced a gentle finger across the infant’s brow.  “Did you get any sleep last night? Seems there are quite a few presents in that stocking.”

She turned to smile at him, his hair ruffled, cheeks dark with stubble.  “If I didn’t, it wasn’t because I was playing Father Christmas,” she answered tartly before softening her words with a feathery kiss across his lips.  “Seems there is more than one impatient boy for Christmas gifts under this roof.”

The rumble of his chuckle against her stirred that warmth in her as always, but his attempt to catch her mouth again was interrupted as a chubby fist tugged on her arm.

“Here, Mummy.  Present.”  George was holding a still wrapped gift up towards her.

“I see, darling!  Are you going to open it?”

A little brow furrowed as he looked at the shiny wrapping paper.   “Present,” he pouted softly.

She laughed, but it was Charles who gently reached out to tug at a corner of the paper.  “You have to unwrap them, silly man.”  He gave the paper another tug, causing it to rip and a carved small train car to tumble out.

George froze, still holding the remains of the ripped wrapping in his fist, and Mary quickly shifted, predicting exactly what was about to come.  George let up a wail right on cue, and she pressed their daughter towards Charles as the little boy launched himself at Mary’s chest, his arms wrapping around her neck as he began to sob into her.

Charles quickly scooped up his daughter, gently bouncing her as she let up a piercing cry of her own at the sudden flurry about her.  He gently shushed as he rocked her, looking at Mary with sudden concern over George’s unexpected reaction.  His stomach clenched.

“What did I do?”

Mary shook her head, and smiled at him, a forgiving look that did little to calm him at the moment.  “Not you, darling.  I suspect this is more about Nanny and the book ripping incident last week.”  She was gently swaying with George, stroking his hair and planting soft kisses on his head as she murmured to him.

Charles watched her, how naturally she would slip into this sweet, nurturing mother-role the moment her eyes lit upon George or Charlotte.  Her voice would shift, the features of her face calm, and she would be transformed with a glow of contentment, even now as she calmed tears and tantrums.  He marveled how she, able to be so sharp-tongued and savvy any other moment, could soften in the blink of an eye.  And what a gift he had been given to witness it, to see the love and bittersweet memories she had with George transform and grow to something even larger and more beautiful as Charlotte had joined them.  

George was sniffling now and lifting his tear streaked face to Mary.  “I didn’t rip, Mummy.  Papa ripped paper, not me.”

Her fingers brushed at his wet cheeks.  Her hands, her touch.  Hands that gave everything away as to her emotions, that always seemed to seek a purpose, yet never did they twist in consternation when with her children. They stroked, calmed, tickled, clapped in delight and held.  He had to resist the urge to gather them to himself right now.

“Yes, but it is a present, darling,” her voice soothed her son.  “This paper is supposed to be ripped to open it.”

George shook his head firmly, looking accusingly at Charles, “No.  Not bad for ripping.  Papa ripped.”

“Yes, Papa was helping you.”  Mary reached for the brightly colored train car that had spilled from the paper and been ignored in all the tears.  “See, darling?  If you rip present paper, you get to see what is inside.”

George took the toy in his hand, a hiccup slipping out as his serious expression studied the little car.  Fingers made the wheels turn.  A small smile began to emerge.  

“Train,” he declared, looking up at Mary and then at Charles.  He thrust the toy out suddenly to Charles.  “Here.  Papa’s train.  Papa ripped the paper so Papa’s train.”

Those words combined with the look of pleasure on the boy’s face nearly made Charles lose his hold on Charlotte.  He cleared his throat, struggling for something to say, but was lost in the tight clench of his heart.

Mary was laughing softly as she stretched over to pull the stocking from where George had abandoned it on Charles’s lap.  “No, Father Christmas gave you these presents, my silly goose.  It’s George’s train.”  She looked up at her husband, warm eyes smiling at him as she was wrapped in that glow.

As if she recognized his sudden floundering in a sea of emotion, she reached up to brush the hair back from his forehead, pressing herself just a little bit closer to his side.

He closed his eyes at her touch, hugging their daughter closer for a second as he shook his head.  “God,” he breathed in a whisper only she could hear.

Her eyes were still on him, filled with as much emotion as he felt.  “I know,” she whispered, the edge of a sob lacing her suddenly unsteady voice.

 The crackling crunch of paper made them both turn back to George who was turning another present over in his hand.  He looked up expectantly at Mary.  “I rip now?”

Charles’s laughter joined hers as they both voiced their assent in unison, cheering as George poked a hole in the paper and carefully began to peel the paper away from another train car.  

“More train!” his gleeful cry turned into an excited giggle, tears now forgotten as he dug more presents out of his stocking.  Soon bits over torn paper were scattered across the duvet like colorful snow, and George was jabbering happily to them, telling sudden tales of the new train and wooden circus animals that filled his lap. 

Charlotte wriggled in his arms with a sudden gurgle, and Charles looked down into his daughter’s face.  Still too young to understand all the Christmas fuss, a wide toothless smile nevertheless began to break across her face as she gave an excited coo and arm wave at finding her father looking down at her.

The warmth of softness of Mary filed him as she leaned into him, resting her chin on his shoulder to smile down at the little girl as well.  “Is someone else deciding to join in the fun?”

“I think so.  Hello, little milady.”  He reached out a finger to tickle below her chin before gently tracing across the dark brown hair on her head.  She giggled happily in his arms, her grin shifting to a little pucker as she began to babble out a chatter that only Mary seemed to understand.  He chuckled as Mary joined in the made up conversation that was dissolving quickly into little belly laughs from Charlotte.  With a face as animated as her mother’s, she was the very image of Mary.  Except her eyes.  Those piercing eyes of hers had held on to their birth blue for so long, only recently shifting into a light hazel that danced with the green and gold of his own.   

“Books!”  George scrambled back quickly to snuggle in between his parents, clutching the treasure found at the bottom of his stocking.  “I read!” he demanded, opening up the cover of the mini volume and quickly making up a story all his own to go with the colorful illustrations.

He turned to watch Mary, the way she caught her lip as her eyes misted with tears.  This gift she had given him, this most amazing present he would get to unwrap each and every day.  He reached out to brush her jaw softly, turning her to face him.

“Happy Christmas, sweet Mary,” his whispered softly, his lips caressing her forehead as he caught her shuddering sigh.

She pressed a soft kiss of her own against his neck, the whisper of her mouth filling him with even more heat and love.  

“Yes,” she whispered against him.  “So happy.  So very, very happy.”


End file.
